


Hard in Handcuffs

by regsregis



Series: A lock with many keys [2]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, sexual favours idk how to actually tag it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 15:52:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11649816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regsregis/pseuds/regsregis
Summary: kicking this au off with some slippery trades





	Hard in Handcuffs

It’s way past shower time, Jack trotting back to his bunk after having finished his shift in the laundry room, when a sound of someone quite passionately singing seeping from under half closed door to the shower area reaches his ears.

A peek inside reveals Rhys giving it his all, a mop in his hands and the handle used as an impromptu microphone, tiled floors wet and his jumpsuit halfway striped, sleeves tied around slim waist currently rolling forward to grind against the mop stick. 

_ Steal the night, kill the lights _

_ Feel it under your skin  _

The kid drops down, spine angled and ass currently wiggling in Jack’s direction, quite unaware that he’s now performing for a rather… appreciative audience, the muffled sound of the music blaring from a radio shoved into one of the back pockets.

_ Wrap it up, you can’t stop _

_ ‘Cause it feels like an overdose  _

Jack waits for the song to end, one eyebrow cocked once the other man finally spins around and spots that he’s being watched.

“Oh… uh, hey?” Despite the slight uncertainty, Rhys doesn’t seem to be flustered, one foot already beginning to tap as a new song rolls in.

“Hey yourself gatito…” Stalking closer, Jack pries the mop from unresisting hands, backing the kid until his back collides with the shower wall, the scrappy curtain falling behind them, and shielding the duo from any unwanted eyes, possibly lured in by the still playing music. “Got a lil’ something for old Jack?”

“Yeah,” with a puff of careless laughter, the kid goes about rummaging through the inseams of his jumpsuit, eventually pulling out a small packet, clear plastic holding a few pinches of precious white powder. It’s slightly torn on one side and if Jack’s keen eyes can tell him anything, it’s that there is a little bit less of the drug in there than he originally ordered. 

“Started without me I see…” the ever so slight dilation of pupils and the quickened breath, no longer due to the previous performance, tell him that he’s right, and as he takes the packet, there is some residue still sticking to Rhys’ clammy fingers. No use wasting it, Jack greedily snatching the hand and running his tongue over dirtied digits.

“That’s my levies system…” The fingers in his mouth squirm, moving to rub across the gums above the front row of his teeth.

“I don’t like it,” Jack purrs once his mouth is free again, already working the sleeves of Rhys’ jumpsuit loose, zipper following until the material pools around the kid’s ankles, “you’ll have to make up for it to me guapo, no one touches Handsome Jack’s stuff without permission.” The threat is superficial at best, rough hands working Rhys’ dick into full hardness, hungry lips swallowing little satisfied mewls. 

“I just did,” Rhys sounds breathless, jerking into the tight grip stroking him, “and considering the punishment I’m getting, Imma just do that again…” A mean twist and a thumb rubbing over the tip, the edge of Jack’s nail roughly catching against the slit, have the kid squirm some more, not apologetic in the least and only eagerly pawing at the side of an orange jumpsuit. Whether to tug the other man closer or get his greedy hands back on the packet securely stashed in Jack’s pocket, it’s hard to tell.

Considering the kid suitably desperate, his touch lifts, one hand drifting to snatch the packet before Rhys gets to it, and he carefully unwraps it.

“You move an inch or spill any of that, you’ll be licking it off that dirty floor.” It’s a warning, one that doesn’t seem to impress the kid at all, a murmured ‘I wouldn’t even mind’ attesting how entirely fucked up he is.

Alas, Rhys instantly grasps the intent bubbling behind Jack’s slanted eyes, fisting one hand around the base of his cock to keep himself steady, a few passes eliciting a couple more sweet moans, before he stills completely, hard and leaking, tilted forward at a 90 degrees angle. Kneeling down, with a wink and a flick of his tongue against the tip, Jack forms a more or less straight line, bumpy where the pulsing veins got in the way. 

A deep, near guttural snort later, Jack is already pressing his finger against the opposite, burning nostril and repeating the process, nose momentarily buried in the soft curls leading down the kid’s front. A second given to wonder how much he fucking wants to stay there, with the addition of a hard weight sliding down the back of his throat, before the sudden kick feeling like a punch to his chest and knocking out the wind out of him sends him flat onto his ass.

“Wow!” chasing that with a whistle, Jack lets his knees loosely splay to the sides, too wrapped up in the abrupt heaviness, mixed with a tickling itch to get moving clawing through his body. “Shit’s strong kitten!”

“I know,” husky voice sounds unexpectedly close, tinged with swirling hues, settling down in a dense blanket wrapping around Jack’s consciousness, and making him move faster, before he can even think where exactly he wants to move. Hands tangled into Rhys’ tanktop, he’s already dragging the kid down for a deep, sloppy kiss, distractedly noting a tongue darting over his upper lip and under his nose to swipe whatever still stayed stuck there. Unfocused as he is, he still manages to reach into the discarded clothing, turning down the volume of the music, the beat still easily managing to thrum through his whole body, hyper aware of the man grinding against him, trembling hands reaching past the hem of Jack’s clothes and sliding to his ass.

Through the thick fog surrounding his mind, pleasure and slick tightness pulsing along his spine and tingling in the tips of his restless fingers, a voice, harsh and annoying pushes through, demanding to know what the fuck they are doing here. The curses bubbling from between Jack’s awfully dry lips end up stifled when an unrelenting palm presses over his mouth and as he swipes his tongue over it, residue lube leaves a slippery aftertaste. He barely cares enough to register a sweet voice promising to more than make up for their misbehaviour.

He’s lying slumped on the floor, slid low enough that only his head stays propped and to his surprise, he discovers the kid quite happily riding him despite the still present dampness all over Jack’s ass, however, this is not the time to ponder over it, his unfocused eyes noticing the blurry shape of military boots standing right next to him. They move, squeaking across the tiles, their owner stepping over Jack, and, craning his neck up, he’s greeted with the sound of opened zipper and soon, hairy balls hanging over his head. With a groan, he rolls his eyes back towards a far more pleasant view before him, slim body winding as it strains to maintain the contact with Jack even as the kid leans forward to offer his little apology for fooling around after hours and maybe placate the guard so neither of them ends up with a warning shot.

Trusting Rhys to deal with the situation, Jack snaps his hips up, burying deeper into the welcoming heat and grinding forward to hear a few surprised moans amidst obscene slurps. A few droplets of spit or cum drip over his cheek but he can’t be bothered with that right now, too entranced by what he’s feeling and -how- he’s feeling it, everywhere and nowhere at the same time, rolling over his whole body in hot waves and the tiles underneath him feel strangely soft, yielding under his weight like the finest mattress, swallowing him into pillowy numbness.

Pushing the annoying grunts of the guard above him to the back of his mind, Jack concentrates on chasing his release, a little bit too fervent to focus properly but the downward grinds are doing it for him more than enough. The liquid heat coursing through his veins makes his bones feel heavy and uncooperative and then it finds a way out, bright white sparkling behind closed eyelids and he comes to a complete still, huffing around the tightness in his chest. 

Soon enough, the guard must have followed him given that he now is stepping to a side and tucking himself in, undoubtedly shooting a smarmy smirk at them given how the hairs on Jack’s forearms bristle.

“I want to see you two lovebirds back in your bunks in 5 minutes, now, chop chop, get dressed and get the fuck out of here.” However it’s him, and Jack just about catches a blur of dark hair and a beard, who leaves first. The sweaty body pulls away from him, stumbling towards the row of sinks, the sound of splashing water echoing in the empty bathroom.

“God I hate this one, his dick tastes like he hasn’t washed it in years…” Rhys is angrily mumbling to himself, running damp hands over his face in a practiced motion, “come on Jack, if you don’t get moving you’ll be the one blowing this idiot next time.” Despite the prissy undertone to his voice, he’s already helping Jack up, cool skin against his burning hot one, and dragging the man along the way.

Morning comes with the sour taste of watered down sludge they call coffee here, and with breakfast out of the way and the last gulp of hot beverage burning the back of his throat, Jack is already making a beeline for the bathrooms, whistling something off-tune, still a little bit sore all over and with a roll of toilet paper tucked under his arm.

When his turn comes, someone rudely bares the way into the stall, and through the lingering drowsiness, Jack shoots an angry glare at whoever dared to interrupt his morning routine.

“Careful about that Handsome you don't wanna accidentally lose something important there…”

“Get lost kid, just because I let you ride my cock last night, doesn’t give you any rights to be this goddamn annoying around me, so, get out of my way.”

A snigger comes, the arm still extended to keep the way closed not budging an inch, “did you forget? That little pinch of powdered sugar wasn’t the only thing you’ve had me get for you, right?”

Uncomfortably shifting his weight from one foot to another, Jack wonders in disbelief the nerve of this moron, could he have really done what Jack thinks he has done…? Well, he's about to find out.


End file.
